His to Tame (Alien Masters Book 4)

by Kallista Dane

  “I am Balam, lord of the Tabun. Welcome to Skhul.”

  The deep voice came from the man seated on the throne. Lord Balam made an imposing figure. He had the fur pelt of some animal unfamiliar to her tossed over his shoulders like a cloak, with a loincloth around his hips. His body was thick, powerful muscles bulging in his bare chest and arms. Hair hung in a tangled mass down to his shoulders, jet black shot with a few strands of gray at the temples. A wicked triple scar ran all across one side of his chest, as though it had been swiped by a massive paw. Around his neck he wore a string of claws on a gold chain. Selena wondered which of them belonged to the beast that had left its mark on him.

  Like the others, he had eyes black as midnight set deep in his face below a prominent brow line. Wild bushy eyebrows made it stand out even more. Those eyes locked on hers. Selena swallowed, trying not to let her nerves get the best of her. She felt like a helpless doe caught in the sights of a ruthless hunter.

  Tabun. Her heart raced. The bloodthirsty Neanderthals, close relatives on mankind’s family tree, who had nearly killed off homo sapiens before being banished from Earth thousands of years ago, sent through a Star Portal to a distant world. And now this one claimed to be Balam, the same Tabun who led the invasion of Gadoliniuma and nearly killed Haldor.

  She raised her chin defiantly. “I think not. Balam is dead.”

  The man on the throne stared at her for a few moments. Then he came down from the dais. He stopped so close she smelled the acrid odor of dried sweat on his body.

  “It would seem that, like your Viking patient, reports of my death were premature.”

  “Why did you kidnap me and drag me here?”

  “You were honored by your federation for bringing the Gadolinean back from the dead. News of your skill as a healer has spread throughout the galaxy, Doctor Reston. I have need of your services. You have only to perform the same magic for me that you did for him and I will return you to your people with my gratitude and unimaginable wealth.”

  He waved a hand and a row of men came out of the shadowy depths of the room, two by two. Each bore the handles of a wooden chest. They stopped, set the chests before her, knelt and opened the lids.

  Selena couldn’t hold back a gasp. Treasure beyond anything she’d ever imagined. How many worlds had Balam plundered to amass such riches? Not gold or diamonds. Those were too commonplace. These chests held rare crystals, any one of which would power a planet the size of Earth for a century. Iridescent elements with grains finer than sand, the primary building blocks for creating superweapons capable of wiping out an entire civilization. Desiccated body parts of long-extinct creatures, fabled for their legendary powers.

  She had to tread lightly. Right now Balam was calm. Even cordial. But she’d heard Haldor’s tales of him, knew this pleasantry was a thin veneer hiding a cruel nature and a vicious temper.

  “Lord Balam, this treasure is incredible and far more than any one person could ever deserve, no matter what the task. But if you were near death, you have certainly recovered. You don’t look as though you have need of my services as a healer.”

  “It is not for me that I have summoned you here.”

  He spoke as though she’d answered a polite invitation, but Selena let that go.

  “Then why?”

  “Come with me.”

  He led the way down a series of long stone passageways, lit by wooden torches every twenty feet or so. The further they went, the colder it became, until Selena’s teeth were chattering. Finally, the passage ended. He stopped before a massive wooden door set in the stone wall, waving aside a pair of guards.

  “It is my son. Lord Atun. My only child. Heir to the throne, destined to carry on my blood and rule the Tabun people. Do your magic. Heal him, restore him to health as you did the Viking and I will send you back to Earth rich enough to become ruler of your own world. But I warn you. If you fail—I will lock you away in my dungeon until I send Atun to the underworld. Then I will punish you in front of all the Tabun before I toss your body into the fire with his while your heart still beats.”

  The moment he opened the door she smelled it. Even cold as it was down here, the odor nearly gagged her. In the center of the room beyond, a young Tabun male lay on a stone altar about four feet high, arms crossed over his chest. Torches high on the walls all around the room flickered, making it seem at times as though his chest rose and fell. Four young women knelt on the floor at the corners of the slab, heads bent, naked except for chains leading from their necks to openings chiseled out of the stone.

  They looked up at Selena, terror in their eyes, silently beseeching her to rescue them from this dungeon of horror. Balam leaned over, kissed his son’s forehead.

  “She is here, my son. You can awaken now. Your time of waiting is over. You will take your rightful place one day as ruler of the Tabun. Your cock will swell and grow again. You will make strong sons to carry on my blood.”

  He turned to Selena and smiled.

  She would die here on Skhul. She knew it now. His voice was even, his face placid, giving no hint of the madness that lurked underneath.

  “Behold Lord Atun. I promised I would bring you to him. He sleeps. He waits. Slaves from his harem have been here with him, night and day, keeping watch, so that when he wakes they may see to his every need. Now you are here. You will heal him. Restore him to health with your magic.”

  Balam stepped aside, waved a hand at the corpse. “Begin.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It would be my honor to be the first to volunteer to accompany you, Haldor.”

  The conference room had grown still, everyone afraid to speak, or even move, for fear of provoking the Viking’s anger any further. David stepped forward, arms outstretched with one fist clenched in the other, the Gadolinean symbol of solidarity.

  Haldor sighed heavily.

  “I thank you, David, for your valor. But the battlefield is no place for a scribe.”

  Instead of answering, David picked up the nearest empty chair, an elaborate carved piece easily as old as the conference table. He tossed it in the air above his head. In one continuous motion, he jumped and whirled, kicking out first with one foot, then the other, reducing it to splinters before it hit the floor. Minister Jordan covered his head as broken bits of wood rained down on him.

  “I’ve trained in ancient combat techniques all my life. It’s my passion. And I spent ten years studying the greatest battles in the history of the galaxy at the same military academy as Ambassador Anderson.”

  Haldor bowed his head. “Welcome, brother.”

  Three hours later, they were onboard a Class VII vessel, outfitted with a skeleton crew consisting of a captain, engineer, and navigator along with David and two other men he’d recruited from his days at the academy.

  “This is Will,” David said as one of the men stepped forward. “And this is Rob.”

  The men could have been twins. Viking twins at that. Broader and more muscular than most of the male Earthers Haldor had seen, they had blue eyes and blond hair clipped short. They inclined their heads to him.

  “James fitted them both with Tellex chips just before we left,” David added. “By the time we get to Daan33 they’ll be able to understand everything you say.”

  Haldor nodded. “Impossible to lead men into battle if I cannot communicate with them. In my haste, I did not think of that. You keep your head under pressure, David. I have no Gadolinean warriors by my side but I thank the gods for sending you to me.”

  David smiled. “Bare is his back who has no brother.”

  “That is one saying that never passed my grandfather’s lips.”

  Haldor saw the flicker of disappointment in David’s eyes. He knew how much the Earther wanted to impress him with his knowledge of Viking culture and customs.

  “But I said it myself, to Kylar,” he added, “on the day we fought side by side to rescue his father—our father.” He clapped David on the back. “As you’ve learned, my ancestors
had words to fit a man’s mouth in time of need like a good boot fits his foot. Surely you have heard this one as well. ‘Fear not death, for the hour of your doom is set and none may escape it.’”

  They spent the next hour exchanging old Norse sayings, each one trying to top the other. Finally, Haldor called a halt. “This game is better played with a mug of ale to toast each one. By Odin’s beard, I never thought to say this to an Earther, but you have bested me, brother. You know as many of our sayings as the toothless old crone who sits by the bonfire at the summer solstice. Each year she’ll come up with ones I’ve never heard. Blessings for those who toss her a few coins—and ancient curses to heap on the heads of those who pass her by.”

  Haldor spent the journey preparing his men for what they would face. They knew nothing of wielding broadswords. He wasn’t concerned. Neither did the Tabun. Heavy and squat, their arms were too short to handle the long blades. But their strength was fearsome in hand-to-hand combat. Haldor planned to use the element of surprise to offset that. A snapped neck, a dagger across the throat before the enemy even knew of their presence—he’d send his team through their ranks swiftly and silently.

  He began their training with a sparring match, squaring off against David. He planned to test their mettle one by one, give them a taste of what they’d be facing. To his shock, the lighter, smaller man twisted out of his grasp in seconds. Haldor found himself tossed in the air, only to land on his back with the wind knocked out of him. David stepped behind him and gripped his wrist, pulling it backwards, with one foot solidly planted in the middle of his arm.

  “A swift kick here and this bone will splinter as easily as that chair did. The neck snaps even easier.”

  David shifted his hand, clasped Haldor’s and helped him to his feet. Haldor groaned and rubbed his ass, then grinned. “Well done, brother. Can your men do that as well?”

  “Will and I are evenly matched. Rob is better than either of us.”

  “Can you teach me how to do it?”

  Now David grinned. “If you give me twenty or thirty years. I’ve trained since I was a child. We all have.”

  Haldor spent hours describing the Tabun in great detail. Their style of battle, their strengths, their weaknesses.

  “The only thing the Tabun love more than ale is qaxa, a fermented drink they make from a slime-covered plant that grows in their swamps. I’m told one mug of it would leave the hardiest ale-swilling Viking in a stupor. If the gods are with us, we’ll arrive on a night when they’ve had one of their feasts and everyone will be drunk on qaxa.”

  When they weren’t laying out plans or training, Haldor took it upon himself to keep up the spirits of his men, just as he had done in the hours before every battle back home. He recited Norse legends, told amusing stories about the more colorful inhabitants of Gadolinium. He knew how easily fear seeped into the soul during the long dark hours of waiting, even in the most valiant warrior.

  For a Viking man, fear of his own death paled when faced with fear of what the enemy would do to his loved ones if he were conquered. As for himself, to keep his sanity Haldor did his best not to think of Selena. Of what she might be going through. Of the filthy Tabun, forcing her to kneel before them as they lined up to shove their stubby pricks down her throat. He knew the Tabun. And he knew his woman. She’d fight them, never dreaming how much worse it would become when she did.

  Haldor’s first glimpse of Daan33 made Earth look like Valhalla. Not much larger than one of Gadolinium’s moons, the planet was a grim, gray ball. Even the inhabitants had a grayish tinge to their skins.

  They stepped off the ship and came face to face with two men who introduced themselves as officials from the local government. David expressed the condolences of the entire gathering over the deaths of their delegation. One of the officials, a sad-looking little man, thanked him, saying the whole planet was in mourning.

  “Daan33 is ruled by the Consolis sortium. We have been forbidden to retaliate against the Tabun. We are ordered to wait until diplomats from all the planets in the sector have agreed upon what action to take. In fact, our people would be severely punished if it became known that we took it upon ourselves to aid you in any way in your mission.”

  He glanced at the other official, who made a point of turning away. Then he leaned forward, holding out something in his hand, and lowered his voice. “This is a map to the Portal. The streets are deserted. Everyone in the city has been ordered to attend the memorial ceremony.”

  He reached into a pocket, pulling out a small cylinder. “I’m going to turn my back to you, just as my friend has, as though you came upon us by surprise. When I do, touch the tip of this to any exposed part of my body. Do the same to him. It renders the subject temporarily immobilized and unable to recall anything that occurred, thereby innocent of any wrongdoing. Use it on the two guards at the Portal as well. They are expecting you.”

  David stared at him in shock.

  “Fucking diplomats. All they’ll do is talk.” The little man straightened his spine, looked each one of them in the eye. “My brother was one of the delegates. Go kill those bastards.”

  * * *

  How do you convince a vicious tyrant maddened with grief that his only son is beyond help?

  “Lord Balam,” Selena began, keeping her voice calm and low, “I can see how much your son means to you. Believe me, if it were within my ability, I would bring him back. But my skills on Earth are with machines that do the work of wounded body parts while I grow new ones in other machines. I have no magic. And I cannot bring any machines through the Portal. They would be destroyed in the journey. Even with my machines, Lord Balam, I could not help your son. I’m sorry, but he is gone.”

  “No. He sleeps.” Balam was shaking his head. “You will heal him and then you will wake him.”

  Everyone around Balam apparently was too afraid of him to be honest. Selena decided a dose of reality might get through to him. “I cannot breathe life back into one who is long dead.”

  Balam exploded. “You brought the Gadolinean back from the dead! I command you to heal my son!”

  She’d had enough of this madness. If she was going to die too, she’d be damned if she’d do it meekly. “Command whatever you want,” Selena snapped. She turned her back on him and walked out of the room.

  That had been hours ago.

  She’d been dragged into this cell by the guards after storming out of Balam’s mad delusion. Like the rest of his palace, the walls were chiseled blocks of stone piled atop each other.

  She’d tracked the passage of time all day by a weak ray of Skhul’s winter sun traveling along the walls through a narrow slit. At first, she simply leaned back against the cold stone, her mind spinning wildly. It was the first time she’d been alone since she awakened. She had no idea how many days had passed since she’d been taken from the gathering. At least two. Possibly more. Haldor must be mad with worry.

  Thinking of him, Selena stifled a sob. If she gave in to the tears now, she’d never be able to stay strong enough to endure whatever was to come. Her heart felt like it had been torn in two. She’d never see him again. Never again hear his laugh. Feel his arms around her, his lips on hers.

  Her biggest regret was that she’d let her fears rule her life. Now she’d never know how it would feel to have him thrusting inside her, taking possession of her. She’d denied herself, denied them both, so much pleasure.

  Yet she’d had the other moments, and for those she was thankful. Moments of sheer bliss, Forbidden moments she’d been taught to turn away from all her life.

  Haldor told her that first day to look into her heart and decide for herself what was right and what was wrong. I know now. Love. Love is right, Haldor, she whispered aloud, as though he could hear her. And denying love is wrong. Locking your heart away, refusing to express love for fear of being hurt—that only creates another kind of pain. The pain of living a life alone, never sharing its joys and sorrows, both big and small, with another. Ma
king the joys greater and the sorrows more bearable. I love you, Haldor. I had to lose you to discover that.

  * * *

  Selena stood on tiptoe, peering out through the narrow slit. It overlooked a wide plaza. For the last few hours, she’d seen and heard all kinds of activity going on. Teams of Tabun men dragging vicious wild beasts through the plaza with ropes around their necks. The animals snorting and bellowing as they were crammed into makeshift pens along one side of the large clearing. Others, mostly women, going to and fro in an endless line, piling logs and branches thirty feet high in the center. Now twilight had fallen and a crowd was gathering.

  The door opened behind her. Selena whirled around.

  Balam strode in, followed by two of his guards. He gave her a cold smile. “You’ve been observing the preparations for tonight’s ceremony. Good. I wanted you to see. That’s why I had you put in this cell. After all, you’ll be playing a key role.”

  His smiles unnerved her far more than his fits of temper. She stared back at him coolly, trying not to show it. “Do I need to study my lines?”

  He snapped his fingers and the two guards advanced. They seized her, holding her easily though she struggled and fought. Dragging her to Balam, they forced her to her knees in front of him.

  “So stubborn and proud. You think you can defy me?” He grabbed the neck of the blue dress uniform she’d been wearing since they kidnapped her, ripping it down the front. As always, she was naked underneath. Selena lifted her chin, refusing to let him see her shame as he ran his hands over her bare breasts. He reached down and roughly twisted a nipple, watching her face the whole time. The smile returned when he caught a flicker of pain in her eyes.

  One of the guards tore the rest of the uniform off her, taking the opportunity to slide his hand between her thighs. Balam’s arm shot out, delivering a backhanded blow to him that knocked him to the ground.